THE NEED TO KNOW
by Ann3
Summary: Set during the episode Discards, Dane Travis tries to explain himself to his son... but is Jesse prepared to listen ? This story is also a prequel to A Father's Fears. Please R&R, and thanks to everyone who have reviewed my other stories !!


THE NEED TO KNOW

Written by Ann Rivers ann.rivers@virgin.net

Completed 13 November 2001

Summary: Dane Travis tries to explain himself to his son – but is Jesse prepared to listen ?

Spoilers: Discards – this is also a prequel to my other Discards fanfic, A Father's Fears.

Disclaimer: Diagnosis Murder and its characters belong to CBS and Viacom.

I'm not making any profit from this, I'm just borrowing Jesse for a little while… 

just wish I could keep him…

They weren't being followed, he was finally sure of that. Sure, maybe, but still far from happy.

What he'd finally decided to tell his son that night was always going to be difficult enough,

without the boy having to see the deadly consequences it threatened to bring.

He had, though. He'd watched his father commit a brutal murder with his bare hands.

And that look of bewildered horror on his son's face was one that Dane Travis would never forget.

But there'd been no time to reassure him, no time to even try and explain his actions.

His first priority had been to protect his life, and that of his shellshocked son, by whatever means -

even if those means included dragging him out of a glitzy restaurant before they'd even ordered.

Shock, he knew, affected people in different ways. In Jesse's case, he'd insisted they paid anyway.

Now they were running, quite literally, for their lives.

Checking his rear view mirror, relieved to find it empty, Dane made yet another 'just in case' turn – allowing himself to relax only when, two interchanges later, the mirror remained clear of traffic.

A thin, humourless smile settled on his face as he glanced across to his still and silent passenger – the hand which had left Jesse so deeply unconscious now gently straightening him back into his seat.

"This is for your own good, Jess… I just hope you still trust me enough to believe that…" he sighed, 

not sure, though, if he wanted to know the answer to that question as he drove watchfully on.

But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now he needed to get his son to safety.

Somewhere secure enough to thwart even the most determined of enemies.

The smile then became slightly easier as Dane took out his cellphone. He knew just the place…

She'd planned for an early night, nothing more taxing than to watch one of her favourite movies.

A brief, terse call from a friend in danger, in need of her help, had changed all that.

Now, as their car pulled up at her door, Cinnamon Carter moved cautiously outside to meet them – keeping a wary lookout around them as Dane lifted his son over one shoulder and carried him inside.

Securing the door behind them, Cinnamon favoured her long time friend with a near playful smile.

"So this is Jesse…" she said at last, fondly studying her other albeit unconscious houseguest.

"He's grown some since I last saw him…" 

Privately grateful that his son hadn't grown that much, Dane grinned somewhat ruefully back at her.

"My back creakingly agrees…" he retorted, gently shifting Jesse into a more comfortable position. 

Seeing this, Cinnamon nodded once more, serious again now as she moved towards the main staircase. 

"He can continue to recover in one of the guest rooms… at least there he'll be more comfortable…" 

Waiting for Dane to catch up with her, she then glanced quizzically back at him over her shoulder.

"So what's going on, Dane…? After all these years out of the game, who wants you dead…?"

"I wish I knew…" he replied, the strain in his voice not entirely due to having to bear his son's weight. 

Thankfully they'd now reached the spare room, which at least took that weight off his shoulders.

But there was still much for him to worry about as he carefully set Jesse down on the edge of the bed, holding him steady while Cinnamon quickly but gently checked him over. 

"All I know is that, for all my determination to protect him, Jesse's safety has been compromised… 

they know where he lives, Cinnamon… whoever wants me knows they can use Jesse to get to me…"

"Well, until we find out the whys and wherefores, you'll both be safe here…" Cinnamon assured him,

the ease with which she removed Jesse's jacket and loosened his tie met with a shrewd knowing smile.

"I see the queen of the quick change hasn't lost her touch…" Dane observed in genuine admiration – his amusement fading slightly at an unwelcome reminder that he hadn't lost his touch either.

In laying him down, Jesse's shirt had fallen open – revealing a telltale bruise on the side of his neck.

"He was scared stiff… about to bale and run…" he finally explained to Cinnamon's quizzical glance.

Studying his hands for a moment, he looked up to meet concerned eyes with near disgust in his own.

"I've been trained to subdue the enemy with these hands, to kill them if need be…" he added quietly.

"I never imagined I'd have to use them to subdue and kidnap my own son…"

"You did what you had to do, Dane…" Cinnamon told him with a gentle but adamant firmness.

"If Jesse _had_ baled… well, let's not dwell on that… you did what you had to do to protect his life… Jesse needs to know that… once you've explained everything to him, I'm sure he'll understand…"

Releasing a long held breath, Dane smiled back at her and nodded in genuine appreciation.

His eyes, though, suggested he was far from convinced as they studied his increasingly restless son.

The son he'd always so dearly wanted, sacrificed so much to protect – but, consequently, barely knew.

"I hope you're right…" he said at last, reaching to give Jesse's shoulder a gently heartening squeeze.

All hope for that understanding was lost, though, as Jesse moaned softly and opened his eyes.

He'd expected confusion, fear, shock at what had happened – all of which he found in those eyes.

But the panic driven fear that had taken brute force to subdue now, if anything, only intensified – provoked, no doubt, by the sight of that hand reaching once more for his shoulder.

Shoving it away, Jesse scrambled away from him, glaring up at his father in barely contained fury.

"Stay the hell away from me…!" he hissed, the anger that darkened his eyes brooking no argument. "Whoever and whatever you are, just… just stay the hell away from me…! Leave me alone…!" 

Facing hostile assassins was something that Dane Travis had spent almost thirty years dealing with - 

years he'd longed to enjoy with the son who now seemed more estranged from him than ever before. Facing that still confused and frightened son was, for the moment at least, totally beyond him.

The only good thing that came from Jesse's outburst was that he was too upset and agitated to notice the silent nod of understanding that passed between the two agents as Dane left the room.

Closing the door behind him, though not completely, Dane leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

All things considered, he couldn't blame Jesse for lashing out at him in such a rare display of anger.

He could only hope that Cinnamon could find a way through that anger, the fear that had triggered it. Some way of reaching the understanding and forgiveness beyond.

A seemingly impossible mission – one that, needless to say, Cinnamon Carter would relish.

Listening at the door, Dane had to admit that her approach to that mission was… well, different…

"Well now, Jesse, after all these years I don't suppose you remember me…" 

As she'd hoped, such a casual, seemingly innocuous remark took Jesse completely by surprise.

The wide blue eyes that now stared back at her were still suspicious, which was hardly surprising. 

But it was the curiosity she could see beyond, the shrewd intelligence that was so like his father's, 

which she now sought to reach.

Sitting on the bed, though not so close that she'd unsettle him, Cinnamon smiled and shrugged – another carefully relaxed remark snagging a little more of that crucial curiosity.

"Of course, you were only five at the time, and flat on your back in the children's ward, so… 

well, no, I don't suppose you would remember… I was with your father when he came to visit you…"

Jesse continued to stare at her in puzzled silence, his eyes confused now rather than fearful.

Much of his anger had gone now, taking with it the adrenalin that had fuelled his outburst – 

leaving him too dazed and shaken to notice that Cinnamon was now sitting right beside him.

A glass of water had appeared as if by magic in his hand, studied now with extremely wary eyes.

Cinnamon allowed herself a private smile. Oh yes, she thought proudly, definitely his father's son… Still smiling she poured another glass for herself, draining it without a trace of hesitation – 

watching in relieved amusement as Jesse, if still rather hesitant about it, eventually followed suit. 

The water seemed to both refresh and settle him, enough for him to shyly return her smile.

"Must have been when I tried to toboggan down our stairs…" he said at last, suitably shamefaced.

Cinnamon nodded, taking advantage of this easier atmosphere to lighten the mood a little more.

"Leading to a broken arm, concussion and a wardful of nurses making one almighty fuss of you…"

"Not to mention a broken sled…" Jesse recalled with an easier if still rather sheepish smile.

Thinking for a moment, he looked up at her with a familiar, no nonsense directness. 

"Funny, you know so much about me, yet I don't know the first thing about you or who you are…"

Another pause, followed by a quietly bitter, "Guess I don't know my own father too well either…"

"No, Jesse, you don't…" Cinnamon replied, the sharp tone of her voice causing Jesse's eyes to widen. Seeing this, anxious not to destroy a still fragile trust between them, she smiled and held out her hand. "First things first, though… I'm Cinnamon Carter, an old… friend of your father…"

Not wanting to embarrass himself any further, Jesse accepted it with a still slightly wary uncertainty.

"Friend as in spy…" he said at last, recovered enough now to risk some gently sarcastic humour.

"Sorry, I meant to say counter intelligence analyst…"

"Actually, I always preferred the title of undercover operative…" Cinnamon retorted just as dryly –

enjoying the 'give me a break' look she received in response before turning back to the point in hand.

"But yes, however you want to describe it your father and I were both in a very dangerous business…

one that we hardly wanted to expose our families to… placing those we loved in the same danger…"

As Jesse nodded in equally serious understanding, Cinnamon reached across to gently pat his arm.

"Jesse, I know what you've seen and heard tonight must be… well, a lot for you to take in, but… 

well, I hope you understand now why your father did what he did… why he brought you here…"

Jesse nodded once more, although not quite convincingly enough for Cinnamon Carter's liking. 

She knew that agreement had come more out of emotional exhaustion than any real belief in it.

But at least she'd gained enough of the boy's trust to give his father a chance to retrieve the rest.

Now he needed time to himself, space to come to terms with this extraordinary wrench to his life.

A glance down to that pale, still bewildered face prompted another thought of maternal concern.

A good night's sleep wouldn't do him any harm either. And at least he'd sleep in safety.

"Try and rest now, Jesse…" she went on, smiling gently down at him before rising to her feet.

"We can talk more of this through tomorrow, once you've had some sleep…"

She was almost at the door when a faint, exhausted voice caused her to turn back.

"What – What about my friends…? I – I mean, the hospital where I work, the people I work with… 

if they don't hear from me tomorrow they'll wonder where I am, and why they can't reach me, and…"

"I know that, Jesse…" Cinnamon replied gently, returning to his side to try and settle him down again. "And I know how much you'll want to contact them, to at least let them know that you're safe…

but until your father and I find out who we can and cannot trust, you must not try to contact them…

I don't doubt how much you trust them, but to involve them would only place their lives in danger…"

She'd made her point – the resignation on Jesse's face as he gave her his pager and phone told her that.

And it was hardly surprising that he looked so unhappy at being denied the company of trusted friends. 

He was, after all, virtually a prisoner – his life resting in the hands of people that he barely knew.

Hopefully he'd see things more clearly once he'd had some sleep – if he ever relaxed enough to settle.

"Jesse, I know how unsettling this must be for you…" she went on, gently massaging his shoulder - relieved and grateful that he trusted her enough not to flinch as she gradually stepped up the pressure. "And I know how confused and isolated you must feel right now, but… believe me, you're safe here… 

you're not a prisoner here, Jesse… your father brought you here purely for your own protection…

all he wants to do is to protect you, to keep you safe… you understand that now, don't you…?"

"I – I guess so…" Jesse mumbled, too drowsy now to realise how subtly he was being coaxed to sleep.

Even when his eyes finally closed, Cinnamon felt honour bound to stay and watch over him – becoming so absorbed in doing so that Dane's reappearance went unnoticed for several moments.

Finally she looked up to return his gratefully admiring look with a modestly satisfied smile.

"He's grown into a fine son, Dane… I can see how you'd be proud of him…" she said at last, 

making one last check that Jesse had settled into a now deep, natural sleep before she rose to her feet. 

Dane nodded in distracted agreement, indulging himself a gentle stroke of his son's forehead.

"More than he'll ever know, Cinnamon… I just wish that feeling was mutual…" he replied quietly, 

the dismay of Jesse's earlier outburst still clear in his voice.

Wryly wondering when she'd become a relationship counsellor, Cinnamon placed a hand on his arm.

"It is, Dane… it's just buried too deeply for him to find it…" she went on, adding with a shrewd smile,

"Still, if he's as smart and stubborn as his father, he won't give up digging until he does so…"

"Oh, believe me, he's twice that…" Dane chuckled, happier now as he left his son to sleep in peace.

He woke slowly, roused by the room's daylight brightness and the sound of distant voices.

Rolling onto his side, Jesse closed his eyes again – hoping against hope to settle back to sleep.

Trying to convince himself that when he opened them again he'd be safely tucked up in his own bed - 

that the harrowing events of the last twelve hours had been a trick of his way too active imagination. 

A dull ache in his left shoulder, enough to rouse him once more, brought him back to painful reality. 

This was no dream, not even a waking nightmare. This was real. Shockingly, undeniably, real.

Gently rubbing his shoulder, Jesse got up and padded warily to the still closed door of his room - curiosity now getting the better of the disorientation of waking up in unfamiliar surroundings.

If he hadn't been so distracted, he may have been able to enjoy the grandeur of those surroundings,

or noticed the telltale wink of sensors set into the stairs as he crept cautiously down them.

Instead, halfway down, he got the shock of his life.

Alarms blaring painfully loud in his ears – and a gun pointed unwaveringly at his chest.

Jesse instinctively threw up his hands, somehow managing a sheepish grin of apology.

"Whoa, it – it's just me…"

Recovering herself, Cinnamon lowered her gun – offering him an equally awkward reply.

"Sorry…"

Deactivating the remaining alarms, she motioned that it was safe for him to continue.

Reaching the foot of the stairs with no further incident, Jesse stood awkwardly shuffling his feet – pointedly avoiding what he'd already convinced himself would be the exasperated eyes of his father.

Had he looked up, he would have seen concern there instead. A gentle, blameless understanding.

It was Cinnamon who eventually broke an increasingly uncomfortable silence.

"Well, Jesse, now that you're awake I'd imagine you'd like some breakfast…?" 

Still unsettled, Jesse shook his head – prompted by his upbringing to shyly remember his manners.

"No, I'm fine… thank you…" he murmured – betrayed, though, by a loud growl from his stomach. Blushing furiously, he added a mortified afterthought. "Well, maybe some cereal, if you have it…" 

Tactfully straightfaced, Cinnamon offered him a reassuring smile before leading him into the kitchen.

Sorely tempted to follow, knowing better than to risk it, Dane watched him go with sad, strained eyes.

He could only hope that a reviving meal would succeed where a good night's sleep had clearly failed. 

The atmosphere between father and son was still anything but easy when Jesse finally returned –

Dane's tentative smile of greeting met with an uncharacteristically cold glare as Jesse sat on the couch.

They might have been in the same room, but they might just as well have been on different planets.

Knowing that what had to be said between them had to be said in private, Cinnamon headed upstairs – determined to play her part in breaking this seemingly impenetrable barrier of distrust and resentment. 

A firm believer in back up plans, in backing up all too few friends and comrades, she'd try to do both. 

Judging by the stony silence she'd left behind, it promised to be quite a challenge.

Dane Travis was facing quite a challenge himself. Last night's bombshell, now made even harder…

"All this started a long, long time ago…" he said at last, returning from the bar with yet another refill – wryly thinking he was around twenty years too late in treating his son to a bedtime story.

Judging by that son's derisive response, he'd reached the same less than charitable conclusion.

"In a galaxy far, far away… before you were an _accountant_…"

The disdain held in that last word hit home like a bullet and hurt like hell, but Dane let it go.

"When the Soviets realised that their technology was hopelessly outdated in the mid sixties, 

they came up with this operation turnkey…" he went on, choosing to try the short and straight option. 

"It was a simple plan… steal all the technology they could get their hands on…"

Change in tack regardless, Jesse still looked and sounded less than impressed.

"Hey, look, you really don't have to bother with any of this… history was my best subject… 

but you probably wouldn't know that, would you…?"

Once more, a cynical strike found its mark. Once more, Dane Travis let it ride.

Somewhere beyond the sarcasm and bitterness was the gentle, compassionate son he longed to know.

With what he was about to recall and relive, that compassion would be sorely needed.

"At one point my team's job was to make sure they didn't get hold of a top secret piece of technology…

it was a new DOD computer program…"

"Wow, that's just like James Bond…" Jesse breathed, his eyes wide in still deeply sarcastic wonder.

"What did you do next, save the world…?"

That one hurt enough for Dane to wince as he tried yet again to break down his son's defences – 

the gentle kindness he'd seen in him as a doctor leading to another change in approach.

"My partner was a man named Greg Kessler…" he said at last, coming to sit opposite his son.

"Greg intercepted the tapes in East Germany and hid them… made a run for the border…

I was waiting on the other side… unfortunately the Soviets were waiting too…"

Jesse frowned, already guessing where this hushed and hesitant account was leading to – 

all sarcasm thankfully leaving the quiet, serious voice which now asked the inevitable question.

"They captured him…?"

A hint of a breakthrough – but Dane Travis could not celebrate it, at least not yet.

"Well, they would have… they were right on top of him…" he said softly, shrugging his shoulders.

"But he… broke cover and turned into the spotlight to give me a better shot, so I couldn't miss…

he knew that if they got him…"

Too overcome to continue, Dane fell silent – leaving his son to reach his own horrified conclusions.

That horror was all too evident as Jesse leaned forward, staring at him out of now wide, dismayed eyes.

"So you – you killed your friend…?" he asked at last, clearly shaken by what his father had had to do. 

"Not that it made a whole lot of difference…" Dane replied, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"Ultimately the Soviets found the tapes anyway, and we didn't save anything, we… we lost it all…"

Overcome with the horror of what he'd been forced to do, he then stood and moved quickly away – leaving a silent, shaken Jesse to try and digest this latest twist to an already incredible tale.

Tactfully waiting until he'd settled, Cinnamon then came down the rest of the stairs to rejoin him – armed with what, she hoped, would finally lay Jesse's doubts to rest.

Sitting on the couch beside him, she started to hunt through the contents of her memento box, 

noting in quiet approval that she already had the boy's full, curious attention.

"It has to be here…" she murmured vaguely, smiling in triumph as she held up her quarry.

A simply framed photograph, recording a personal honour which she still proudly cherished.

"Ah, yes… Friday April twentieth, nineteen eighty one… private ceremony, of course…"

Handing the photo to a now openly curious Jesse, she watched his reaction in quiet amusement. 

As she'd expected, every millimetre of both photo and frame was thoroughly and studiously examined. 

"We didn't like to attract attention…" she explained, smiling slightly as she shrugged her shoulders.

"Even when we earned the occasional commendation…"

While grudgingly impressed by its subject, Jesse was still not convinced by its authenticity.

"You know, this could easily be a fake…" he pointed out, finally passing the photo back to her – 

wryly thinking he'd been spending way too much time around sleuthing doctors and crime scenes.

The private smile then faded slightly. What wouldn't he give to be around either of those now…

Perhaps sensing this, Cinnamon regarded a now rather despondent Jesse with thoughtful eyes.

Maybe the best way to dispel the boy's lingering scepticism was to show some herself.

"Yes, it could… so could I… so could those men who were trying to kill your father…" she replied, thinking for a moment before adding with the same frank bluntness, "It could all be fake…" 

Not wanting things to get overly serious, she adopted a slyly mysterious accent as she added slowly,

"In fact I am expert at playing other people…"

That won her a trace of a smile – a welcome appreciation of both her humour and her honesty.

Cinnamon smiled back, placing the photo back in its box before she looked up again and shrugged.

"This time we're just ourselves…" she said at last, her voice reverting to its usual businesslike tone.

"Eventually it had to be that way…"

A nod this time, followed by another shy smile – one which Cinnamon Carter gratefully welcomed.

At long last, the boy was starting to understand. The barriers were finally coming down.

With trust finally established on both sides, Cinnamon then looked directly into Jesse's eyes – 

putting this new, so vital belief to the ultimate test.

"If you want to go, we won't stop you…"

Jesse looked thrown for a moment, glancing around him as a sequence of locks simultaneously opened. 

When he turned back, there was a new determination in his eyes that left her nodding in proud approval. 

Freedom was his for the taking, but Jesse Travis wasn't going anywhere. At least, not without his father.

The smile then faded as Jesse lowered his head in shame of his earlier, far from rational behaviour.

God, he hadn't thrown a tantrum like that since his mother has refused to buy him a puppy.

That had earned him a hard lesson in growing up – a spanked backside and no TV for two weeks.

Now his imagination and his equally warped sense of humour were picturing something much worse.

This could be a punishment of James Bond proportions, most likely another Vulcan neck pinch…

Strictly speaking, of course, that applied more to science fiction than secret agents, but…

Sensing his unease, Cinnamon squeezed his hand - meeting guiltily startled eyes with a gentle smile. 

"You know, Jesse, I'm sure that your father is as unsettled after last night as you are…" she said at last.

"Now that you understand his actions, why he did what he did, I think he needs to know that…" 

Accepting both hint and heartening with a grateful smile, Jesse nodded and stood with a new resilience –

a sheepishly uncertain glance back to her met with a tactfully guiding nod towards the hallway.

"You might want to try the kitchen…"

Watching him go, Cinnamon fondly shook her head. She couldn't help but feel drawn to this boy.

To want to protect and guide him. Something, she wryly suspected, that many other people felt too. 

And no one would want to protect and guide him more than his father.

Not sure of the reception he'd receive, Jesse tried to gauge his father's mood as he entered the kitchen –relieved at the forgiveness he sensed from him but concerned by the sight of yet another whisky.

Still, all things considered, he could hardly blame his father for that.

Taking a deep breath, Jesse downed his proverbial humble pie in one go and made his first move.

"My dad, the spy… I tell you, this is gonna take some getting used to…" he ventured at last – 

knowing his next words sounded hopelessly forced. "I do get some bragging rights, don't I…?"

His father knew it too – the quiet bitterness with which he responded causing Jesse to wince in dismay. "Sure…" Dane agreed, his turn now for bitter sarcasm as he slowly circled the counter between them. 

"There's so much to brag about…" A pause while he took another steadying drink before he continued. "How I spent my life neglecting my family, so I could learn how to live looking over my shoulder…

and end up, alone, in a room, pushing _papers_…"

Leaning on the counter, Jesse bowed his head – ashamed once more by how harsh and unjust he'd been.

He'd turned his back on his own father, at a time when he'd needed both his understanding and support.

As he walked round to join his father, Jesse vowed he would never make the same mistake again.

"Well, dad, you're not alone…" he replied, gently but firmly taking the decanter from his father's hand. When he looked back, the smile was gentle, the promise heartfelt. "Not any more…"

That earned him just a trace of approval, which was welcome – but Jesse wasn't going to settle for that.

Ignoring the risk of being kung fu-ed across the kitchen, he then playfully slapped his father's arm.

"So what's our next move…?"

The grin on that eager young face was so irresistibly contagious that Dane found himself grinning too – then, to the relief of both of them, laughing out loud.

"Oh, alright…" he chuckled, knowing it was pointless now to prevent his son from becoming involved.

He only had limited experience of it, of course, but he already knew how stubborn his son could be.

"Well, there is somebody we could talk to…" he continued, nodding now as that next move took form. "Somebody from the old days who might be able to give us some answers…"

Jesse nodded, more serious now and a little distracted – as though trying to reach a tricky decision.

"Can I make a suggestion too…?" he asked at last, tentatively catching his arm as he moved away.

Before his startled father could reply, Jesse did so instead - in a way that left his father visibly moved.

A hug of mutual understanding and forgiveness, which neither of them was in any hurry to break.

Gradually aware of Cinnamon's quietly approving presence, Dale looked across at her and smiled.

Whatever threats he'd face in the days to come, at least now he wouldn't be facing them alone.

Then again, he now found there were going to be downsides to teaching his son some rules of the game. "Hey, can I ask you something…?" Jesse asked suddenly, looking up at him with brightly eager eyes.

"That nerve pinch you used on me last night, d'you think you could teach me how to do that…?

Only I had to treat this huge D and D biker the other day, and he could have eaten me for breakfast…

and it would be real neat if… well, you know, the next time I have to treat someone bigger than me…"

A pause, followed by a slightly peeved, "Which, of course, pretty much covers the whole of LA…"

Ignoring his father's fondly exasperated look, Jesse warmed to his suggestion with renewed enthusiasm.

"Hey, you know, I could use it on Steve, too, the next time he orders me out for his coffee and donuts…

not to mention this cable rep who just won't take no for an answer, and… hey, that's another thing… 

I bet you know all kinds of neat defence techniques… you know, like karate, and kung fu and stuff…"

With both his father and Cinnamon laughing too much to reply, Jesse stared at them in puzzled surprise.

"What…?" he asked in what, he felt, was fully justified indignation.

"One step at a time, Jess…" his father chuckled, still laughing at the plaintive look on Jesse's face.

Needless to say, he was also looking forward to some long overdue bonding with his reconciled son – 

just maybe with a little more restraint, giving them both enough time to fully enjoy it.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, though careful not to do so too hard, he steered him gently onto a stool.

"Jess, there's nothing I want more than to get to know you… but let's get there slowly…" he went on,

careful not to make his next equally gentle words of advice sound like an exasperated lecture.

"I don't want to try and cram twenty odd years into twenty odd minutes, or twenty odd days, or…"

A sheepishly wry smile told him that Jesse understood – but just in case, he reminded him anyway.

"Besides, bear in mind that this poor old body of mine has to try and keep up with you…"

"Somehow I don't think that'll be a problem…" Jesse shot back with an equally mischievous grin –

still not quite able to keep the keenness out of his voice as he added eagerly, "So what now…?"

Realising this was an argument that he was never going to win, Dane just smiled and shook his head.

"Well, since we have so much work to do, I'd suggest a few phone calls to get things moving, and…"

Unable to avoid that wheedling smile, he then sighed and shrugged. "Then maybe a little later…"

Jesse visibly brightened. At last, some real quality time with his dad. What could be better than that…?

Cinnamon provided an equally appealing alternative.

"Before all that, I'd imagine you're ready for some lunch…" she said, coming to stand between them –placing a hand on each of their shoulders while favouring them both with an appreciative smile.

"After all, it's not every day that I get to entertain two such handsome and eligible gentlemen…" 

Blushing slightly at the compliment, Jesse thought for a moment then stood and shyly caught her arm.

"Can I make it…?" he asked – feeling honour bound to return some of her kindness and hospitality.

"My son the doctor is also quite the budding chef…" Dane chipped in with a proudly approving smile. 

"Oh, I see…" Cinnamon nodded, sharing his amusement as Jesse headed eagerly for the fridge.

Opening the door, he studied its contents for a few moments before glancing hopefully back at her.

"Cinnamon…? I don't suppose you have any sausages…?"


End file.
